The Beasts Within Us All
by Gravedigger James
Summary: After his father leaves under vague circumstances, a young man named Roger leaves Vault 101 to confront his father about his mysterious past, and the dark origin of his birth.


Roger had always been alone in this world. Even before he was forced to leave the Vault, his life was full of conflict. Whether it was with the overseer or those goons, The Tunnel Snakes, he was always butting heads with someone. But now that he has fled the Vault, in pursuit of his father, perhaps he can finally show the world, who he truly is.

**The Beasts Within Us All**

Roger slowly stepped out into the world, his gun ready. He made his way towards a large cliff that stuck out to his left, flanked by an imposing pile of boulders and broken trees. It was night, he had noticed; the sky was a dark blue canvas, sprinkled with endless white specks. He carefully made his way to the end, lowering himself into a crouch, and stared off into the distance. It was odd, he had thought, even though he has never left the Vault before, he could breathe the air just fine. No hacking or coughing, no problems with leaving the purified atmosphere of the underground sanctuary. Sanctuary, he thought bitterly; in comparison to this hellhole, it was sanctuary. Further ahead he could see the remnants of a prewar town, now, no more then a bunch of hollow wrecks and unusable cars. As he reflected on his new situation, he spotted a collection of lights not to far off on his right. Quickly checking his Pipboy, he found that the lights belong to the settlement mentioned in the Overseers report. Roger grinned, a cold wave running through his body as he holstered his gun. He debated climbing down the cliff for a minute or two before finally forgoing the idea and taking the dusty path leading from the door to an obliterated road. His journey had begun.

The route to Megaton was pretty simple for a person to follow. Just head through the town until you spotted the gaudy, rust-choked sign that read "Megaton". Seriously, were the people living in the waste that fucking retarded? Or was it for the benefit of new comers to the area? He was going to go with the latter and leave it at that. Up ahead, he saw it, a massive mosaic mountain of metal, which pierced the dark sky. He carefully approached the gate, cautious of the rifleman up in a rudimentary crows nest just overhead.

"Hey there, stranger!" a voice rang out. Rogers hand swiftly reached for his gun. "Hey now!" the voices cried, "Relax, I'm not an enemy. Just a traveling salesman, peddling my wears-no pun intended- care to browse something?" the speaker slowly walked into a more visible spot. He appeared to be a young man, in his early twenties, clad head-to-toe in leather. Roger relaxed and let his hand fall to his waist, moving closer. From behind the man stepped a young woman, dressed in a brown equivalent of the mans outfit, holding a rope. She seemed to be leading something behind her on a thin rope. The creature appeared to be some sort of red-orange cow with two heads. This must be one of those "Brahmin" he read about. Focusing his attention on the man- who had courteously laid out a large spread of clothing and various other items on a mat- he began to pick through the selection. A lot of it was in pretty decent condition, he noticed, his eyes settling on an impressive suit of leather. He thought back to what his father had mentioned to him.

He was seventeen at the time, and was in the mist of his hand-to-hand training.

"Son," his dad had addressed him, "I know you have fun with your combat training and lock picking exercise, but there is one more skill you should learn." Roger nodded in understanding, releasing a trio of powerful flurries upon the punching dummy. He paused a moment to wipe his brow, his dark green hair falling in his face like a spiky curtain. His father lifted his hand and pressed a set of items into it, stepping back. Roger used his free hand to clear his hair away, so he could get a better look at what he had been given. His face fell a thousand feet as his dad struggled not to laugh. All he could do is gape in silent horror...at the needle and thread he had been given.

After about five minutes of bartering, Roger had left with a pretty decent set of supplies to work with; a set of leather armor- the Merchant had been kind enough to give him the proper names for the outfits- and some spike-ridden leather that people he called "Raiders" wore. He jogged on behind a large rock just to the left of the Megaton entrance- he refused to enter at night- and sat down to work. He removed his Pipboy and gave his own clothing an once-over. The jacket Butch had tossed him was in pretty decent shape, unlike the Vault suit underneath. Tears, bloodstains and dirt had consumed the entirety of it. So, stripping naked, he set to work on building a sensible replacement. He used broken glass to cut strips from the spiky armor and the black thread and scissors he kept in his bag to mend the suit. By the time he finished, it was morning and the sun was beating down fiercely. Roger looked at his Pipboy; six-o-clock it read. He had spent nearly four hours making his new outfit, but it was worth it. Jumping into it quickly and gathering his things, Roger felt confident as he sauntered up to the door- ignoring the creepy robot that kept talking like a cowboy- he paused in front of the massive doors and hummed.

"Uh, hello? Mind opening the doors?" He called out to no one in particular. A minute passed before the doors began to slowly creak their way open. A massive cloud of dust rolled along the ground, as if created by an invisible stampede of miniature bulls. Roger began to stroll into the town, which was a rough collection of makeshift homes, crafted from the remains of prewar vehicles- planes, buses, cars and such- as well as regular old junk. The main path was a steep, down-hill slope, ending at a large pool of water. But to Roger, this was nothing compared to what lied in the center. Sitting idly in the middle of the town, was a large atomic bomb…

Chapter 2

Lucas Simms was a peaceful man, morning, noon and night. And as a peaceful man, he liked a peaceful town; and see as there was a new comer in his town, he only felt right to greet him. But he hesitated. There was...Something about this man that didn't feel right. He had always been good at sensing a person's nature at a glance- a sort of sixth sense if you wanted to call it that- and kept tabs on potential trouble makes. Looking at this boy, all he could see is: madness. A wild, vicious creature was stirring behind those steel-blue eyes of his. And yet, he walked with the spirit of a man looking for something, or someone. He couldn't imagine who though. He looked the stranger over; he was roughly 6'3 with a light build and long green hair. He wore what appeared to be standard leather armor, except that the chest area had been equipped with a bullet-proof vest and the legs had a set of spiked knee-pads sewn into them. Most curiously though, was the prewar leather jacket he wore over it all, did this guy have a hard-on for leather or what? Simms was just opening his mouth to greet him- and of course let him know the rules of the town when he spotted her. Casually strolling towards the door via the walkway to his right, was real trouble. Juliana Caster, Demon of The Waste. Though her outfit and appearance had drastically changed over the years, there was no mistaking her. Tall, muscular and stern, her dark red hair swept back into a smooth ponytail gave with a vague resemblance to a scorpion. She locked eyes with Lucas, changing course immediately, and began walking to the newcomer. Shit, did they know each other? If they didn't, why would she be approaching him? His mind was racing feverishly, searching for an answer. In fact, he was so consumed in his thoughts he was completely unaware that the pair was strolling passed him towards the atomic bomb.

Roger was on edge. He had only been in the town all of three minutes and was already being approached by people he didn't know. First, there was the angry looking guy in that ridiculous cowboy outfit- who did he think he was, the Lone Ranger? - And now this Amazon with a braid is practically leading him by the hand.

"So, where ya from stranger" she asked quietly. Her voice sounded off- like someone who chain smoked that was attempting to be seductive- and very suspect. "I don't think I've seen you around here or anywhere." She stopped in front of the pool of water. It was dirty, and an odd green color. He hesitated, not wanting to risk the radiation that was probably rolling off the thing. The large woman turned and faced me. Roger managed to get a full look at her, now that he had the higher ground. She seemed to be near my height- give or take a few inches- but far more muscular. Her pale skin was set off by the darkness of her red hair and light splatter of freckles that covered her face. He also noted a thick, ugly scar that traveled down her throat until it was covered by her bloodstained t-shirt. Clearing his throat, Roger finally spoke up.

"My name's Roger Hemlock, I just left the vault. My father decided to bail out and take care of some "unfinished business" as he called it. And I don't mean to be rude but who are you?" the woman stood straight and placed a boot against the side of the bomb to tie it.

"My name is Juliana Caster, gun-for-hire and adventurer. I'm not one for subtleties, so I'll cut to the chase: I need you to help me reach a certain location. I know where it is, but the issue lies within the journey, the place is lousy with raiders and other annoyances. Feel like making some caps?" they locked eyes with each other. The woman's irises were a dark yellow.

"Well, first I'm going to have to find out if anyone here knows something about my fathers' location." The woman spat at my feet and laughed.

"Your daddies name is James right? Wearing a Vault suit?" he nodded, taking a step forward.

"You know him?! You know where he is?"

"I don't know him, but I overheard that overpricing cocksucker, Moriarity talking. He said something about a guy name James and GNR or some shit. Anyway, the building is easier to reach where I'm going, so I'm sure you'll find somebody that can give you more information then these washouts." She lowered her foot and stuck out a badly burned hand. He scratched my head and thought on it. A full minute passed before he finally agreed. Juliana grinned and pushed- literally- him in the direction of an equipment store.


End file.
